A Marching Band, Walking

A Marching Band, Walking

I saw a Marching band, walking

Walking across St Andrew’s Square

Heads bowed into the North Sea wind

Instruments sheathed and protected

Drums dragged behind on reluctant wheels,

Save for the Sousaphone,

Which wrapped its vibrant coils around

A fat man with no hiding place.

Up front the conductor led the way

His umbrella holding a high note

The bedraggled ensemble stumbling into step

Following his direction – if not his enthusiasm.

Yet strip off the dull jackets

Release the brass and drums

Let them join in lines of hope

Break out the uniforms

Keep time,

Share their music

Let the trumpets call

But meantime,

Just let them safely cross the road

Without losing the fat man

And his Sousaphone.